Desperate
by ICRepresentative
Summary: A murder in an apartment, a death in a carpark. Both speak of a desperation to finally get things over and done with...
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer**: I don't own CSI. Though I sure want to. Many thanks to **Tinuviel Undomiel** and **Nerwen Aldarion** for the input, ideas, inspiration, and for your forgiveness for my half-hour tardiness. I shall never catch the wrong bus again. I swear. (PS You guys RAWK)

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The land rover was unremarkable. A perfect kind of car to drive around Vegas in and not get noticed. The driver gripped the wheel tightly with sweaty hands. His eyes flicked sideways, scanning the empty parking lot. The only lights came from neon signs and street lamps.

"She should be here by now." The driver bit his lip. "She should be here." The driver saw someone coming towards him, and froze.

A cop.

The numberplates had been covered up with a dark cloth. That was one of the things which made the security guard come over. That, and the fact that the mall was closed, and no-one should be in the parking lot.

"Sir?" The guard held up a flashlight into the man's eyes. "Sir, is there a reason your numberplates are covered up? It is a federal offence."

The man in the driver's seat squirmed, then lowered his voice. "I'm being blackmailed." The man hissed. "And I'm here to make a final payment." His eyes were wide with fear. "Please, sir, you have to leave. Now. Or he'll kill her."

The cop stepped back and nodded. He raised his voice for the benefit of anyone who might be watching. "Well, goodnight to you, sir." The cop walked slowly away, determined not to run back to his post. If he ran, the blackmailer could kill that poor guy. If the guard walked quickly, at a business-like stride, he might be able to reach his post and call for backup. Just in case anything went wrong.

Ten seconds later, something did go very wrong.

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"Caucasian male, late thirties, cause of death: two gunshot wounds." Grissom stated in his cool detached voice. "One shot under the jawline on the right side, the other through the neck. Profuse bleeding, as to be expected when a bullet goes through the jugular and the both of the carotids."

Warrick took a photo of the dead man sitting in the driver's seat, then looked up at Gil. "What do you think, Gris? The security guard who talked to the guy said this guy said he was being blackmailed."

"Mmm." Grissom agreed, his head tilted slightly, "I heard his statement. But I think there's something wrong with it."

Warrick tilted his head and frowned. "What, you think the guard was lying?"

Grissom opened the door of the land rover on the passenger side and looked around. The interior of the rover was immaculate, and smelt freshly washed... at least, under the smell of congealing blood. Grissom shone the torch around. There was nothing in the backseat, nothing on the passenger seat. The dead man stared vacantly out the windshield, a hole in under his jaw, and half of his throat missing. The man's arms hung limply either side of him. There was blood everywhere - over the steering wheel, the dashboard, the radio... and splattered on the two handguns that rested in his lap. The barrels of both guns were angled outwards.

"No," Grissom said calmly, "I think our victim here was the one lying."

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TO BE CONTINUED

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Okay, this here's my first attempt at a CSI episode. This up top is just the intro. Tell me what you think, any ideas, any suggestions, any comments? Reviews give me warm&fuzzy feelings.


	2. Holidays and Emails

**Disclaimer**: CSI isn't mine, but it should belong to **Tinuviel Undomiel** and **Nerwen Aldarion**. They know CSI like I know muffins.

**A/N**: The OC is mine, hands off. I am a lazy little girl, so I need contstant reminders to update. And the more happy reviews I get, the more I update.

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In the break room, Catherine stared at the slip of paper in her hand and bit her lip. "Hey, chief," she tried for cheery, "I was wondering if I might..." She shook her head and pulled a face. Not cheery. Business-like, then. "Grissom, could I have a word? I was wondering if I could..."

"You know talking to yourself is a sign of madness?" Sara said, walking in.

"Yeah, I know." Cath shot back. "But so is interrupting."

"Only if you interrupt yourself." Sara sat down next to Catherine and looked over her shoulder. "Wow! A holiday to Hawaii? How'd you get that?"

Cath sighed and leant back in the chair. "One of those mother-daughter contests that magazines throw. Lindsay begged me to enter something she'd written, so I did." She shook her head and smiled a tight-lipped smile. "And we won."

"Wow." Sara put down her coffee cup and took the letter from Catherine. Her eyes flicked over it. "This is pretty sweet."

Cath stood up and went over to get some coffee. "Only thing is, how do I get Grissom to give me a week off so Lindsay and I can have some mother-daughter time in Hawaii?"

"Easy," Nick Stokes walked in, heading for the fridge, not hearing the whole sentence, "Just tell him you won a trip to Hawaii, and you have to go because it's for this week only." He grinned,

Sara held up Catherine's letter. "She did, and it is."

Nick whistled, impressed. He tossed a frozen burrito into the microwave. "Nice work, Cath."

Catherine sighed. "Yeah. I know." She sipped her coffee, then added more sugar. "A week in Hawaii." She sighed.

"Yeah, just what we all need," Grissom came in, and waved a pile of papers. "Assignments, ladies and gents."

Warrick came up behind Grissom. "Sorry I'm late," he shrugged, "Paperwork bites."

"Well, here's more of it." Grissom said, handing Warrick the top sheet. "Sara and I are on the supposed blackmail-murder case, the land rover in the parking lot. Warrick? I need for you to take this a 420 tonight, old guy dies of a heart-attack. When you're done, you can come back and help me and Sara. Catherine and Nick are investigating a 419 in an apartment downtown. Any questions?"

Catherine put up her hand. "Can I have the week off?"

Grissom stared, then raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Sara passed Catherine's ticket to Grissom as Catherine said, "I'm going to Hawaii."

Grissom examined the ticket with a frown on his face, then looked up at Catherine. "Why didn't you tell me this beforehand?"

Catherine smiled and shrugged. "Because I didn't know beforehand. They delivered the letter to CSI and I only found out tonight."

Grissom shrugged, the frown lines on his face smoothed themselves out. "Well, there's nothing I can do to stop you. But we will be one short here. And I don't want Nick taking this case alone."

"Hey," Nick protested, "What, you think I can't handle a case by myself? Haven't we been through the 'silk, silk, silk, cows drink water' thing already?"

Warrick grinned. "Easy, brother, let's not offend the cows." Nick gave him 'The Look' while Sara barely hid a smile.

But Grissom shook his head. "It's not that I don't think you're not capable, Nick. It's just that this case... well, you might need a little help." He handed Nick his assignment sheet, and Catherine her ticket. Nick frowned at his paper.

"'A man was killed in his kitchen, no signs of forced entry.' The man's occupation... trophy hunter?" He looked up, and shook his head, a half-smile on his face. "Who kills a trophy hunter?"

"Maybe the animals got revenge." Sara commented dryly.

Nick smiled, and he shook his head at the brunette. "How did I know you were going to say that?"

Warrick smirked. "You think they were cows?"

Catherine interrupted with forced cheeriness. "So, Grissom? Do I have an affirmative to go on a short-notice vacation?"

Grissom sighed, then nodded. "Alright, fine. Do the paperwork, but let Brass know that you'll need someone to replace you for a while." Grissom sighed again. "Let's just hope there's a CSI out there somewhere that wouldn't mind coming to Vegas for a week."

Warrick snorted, "Hell, I would."

Sara smiled. "I did. _And_ I stayed."

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_Attn: All CSI labs._

_ Catherine Willows (Las Vegas, NV) gone on leave. Requesting temporary replacement for one week._

_- Las Vegas Crime Lab; via Detective Jim Brass_

...

...

...

_Attn: CSI Lab, Las Vegas, NV. _

_ I'm game. How soon do you need me?_

_- VW; reply to Cameron Black, WA_

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**A/N**: I did NOT send Catherine away to Hawaii because I hate her - I think Catherine is cool... no matter how Teflon she is. Catherine deserves a holiday. Hence Hawaii. Reviews give me warm&fuzzies and may make me hurry up and update.


	3. Paranoia

**Disclaimer**: I don't own CSI. Though I sure want to. Many thanks to **Tinuviel Undomiel** and **Nerwen Aldarion** for the input, ideas, inspiration, and for your forgiveness for my half-hour tardiness. I shall never catch the wrong bus again. I swear. (PS You guys RAWK)

* * *

It was one of your quiet, average neighbourhoods, with all the houses in the street looking alike. The only real thing that made each of these suburban mousetraps was the colour of the house and the stuff on the lawn. Warrick trudged up the driveway with his kit, taking in the toys scattered all over the lawn. Obviously, a neighbourhood that the parents felt safe letting their kids play on the lawn in. And the house itself? Just an average happy family home. 

Or at least, until grandpa dropped dead in the living room.

Once inside, Warrick set down his case and looked around. Nothing seemed disturbed, out of place... It was like the old guy had just decided to take a nap.

In the middle of the living room. With his head on the coffee table. While watching TV and enjoying a glass of... Warrick sniffed the glass, then winced. Prune juice.

"Ick." Warrick commented under his breath. He looked over his shoulder at Vega. "So, detective, what's the word?"

The detective flipped a few pages back on his notepad, then reported, "David Carson, age eighty-six. Suffered from heart problems. Was keeping an eye on the grandkids while the parents went out. The seven-year-old dialled 911. Said his grandpa wouldn't wake up."

Warrick's lips pursed slightly disapprovingly. _Nick gets a murdered trophy hunter_, the CSI thought wryly, _and I get the old guy dying of a heart attack_. Out loud, Warrick asked, "So what, exactly, makes this a 420? The old guy could have died of a heart attack."

Vega didn't answer for a minute, then smiled an insincere smile. "Could have something to do with the fact that grandpa just won half a mil in a local lottery. And the fact that the kids didn't call 911 for three hours after grandpa 'fell asleep'. Long after their parents got home."

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"Man." Nick looked around the apartment, shaking his head. "I'm glad Sara's not on this case. She'd freak."

Heads lined the walls, staring blankly back at Nick. Stuffed animals crouched in forced poses that made them look menacing, powerful, beautiful... and worth shooting. And covering shelves and lining whatever space that was left in the apartment were horns, teeth, feathers and other animal paraphernalia. Trophies galore.

A grizzly bear loomed near the doorway, its paws raised in the air above its head and its fangs bared in a snarl. Several pelts of the deer and buffalo variety covered the floor, like macabre throw-rugs, over the tacky cream shag carpet. A hollowed-out elephant foot held umbrellas near the door.

Jim Brass looked around the apartment, and whistled, impressed. "When they said trophy-hunter, they meant trophy-hunter."

Nick shook his head. "And they let him get all this in the country, how?"

Brass shrugged. "Ask no questions, get no lies."

"Well," Nick led the way through the small apartment, "It's our job to ask questions." He shone the torch over the kitchen counter. A man lay sprawled face-down in a pool of his own blood, a small hole in his spine. "And as long as we ask the evidence, then we can't get lies."

"Yeah, right." Brass consulted his notebook, and snorted. "I kid you not, this guy's name is Matthew Hunter. 31, single, won prizes all over the globe for - guess what? - trophy hunting. And with a name like Hunter, I'm not surprised."

Nick knelt down by the corpse. "Well, if he was a trophy hunter, you think maybe he would have realised there was someone else in his home? Aren't hunters supposed to be super-alert or something?"

Brass shrugged. "Maybe with all these animals staring at you day after day, you lose the paranoia."

Nick suddenly felt his skin crawl. He shone the flashlight around. From the apartment's unusually spacious living room, a puma cub was frozen in a spiteful hiss from atop a TV, and a moose, a buffalo, and a rhino - all heads on plaques - glowered down at him malevolently.

Paranoia. Yeah.

The corpse of Matthew Hunter was frozen with rigor mortis. Nick gingerly turned him over. The man wore an expression of surprise - but not fear. Had he known his attacker? The gaping wound in his chest suggested the attacker had to be up close. And the hole in the man's stomach looked like it had been punched through with... well, it wasn't a knife. It was blunt. And judging from the size of the injury, the man had been stabbed in the gut, several times, and the weapon was so long that it had pierced through the man's back, slicing through his spine.

But what kind of blunt weapon with a fist-sized diameter could pierce?

"Grissom was right," Nick muttered, "I _am_ going to need help with this case."

Jim looked down at his watch, then patted Nick encouragingly on the shoulder. "Well, don't give up now. Just do what you can, ok?"

"Where're you going?"

Brass smiled back. "I have to go pick someone up at the airport." Brass grinned. "Don't let the animals freak you out too much." The detective waved a farewell, then ambled off.

Nick signed, resignedly. "Thanks." He got to work. It was going to be a long night.

**

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****TBC**

**A/N**: This fanfic is based around season two... since there is so much more potential for cases and extra characters in that season. Don't flame me if what happens doesn't match up with what happens in seasons three and four. This is a fanfic. Enjoy.


	4. She's Gonna Be Trouble

**Disclaimer**: Jerry Bruckheimer produced CSI and POTC. Jerry is a genius.

**A/N**: The OC is mine. You finally get to meet them! Yay!

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Grissom sat back at his desk, staring at the photos taken at the crime site. John Doe, and his car, photographed at every angle. The blood-spattered guns and dashboard. The car, interior and exterior. Sara was printing the car now, looking for prints on the door handles, and then, knowing how she ran with ideas, she'd look at the guns. Ballistics was working on the bullets Dr Robbins had extracted from the body. Hopefully, it would be a match to the bullet found in the roof of the car. 

Grissom studied a close-up picture of the man's head. The John Doe had a hole in his skull matching a wound in the bottom of his jaw. The bullet had gone straight up through his head and out the top of his skull, splattering the roof of the car with blood and brain matter. A messy way to die.

"Dr Gil Grissom, I presume?"

Grissom looked up. He didn't know the woman standing in his office. He took a moment to try and remember if he knew her. She was tall, and held herself with the easy grace of the self-confidant. She looked about in her early thirties, or younger, it was hard to tell. She looked both calm and professional, and was wearing a navy-blue power suit. Grissom was impressed; the woman was the absolute model of competence and capability - but he couldn't say he'd ever met her.

"The plaque on the door said 'Gil Grissom'. You are the supervisor for graveyard, aren't you?"

Gil frowned slightly. "And who might you be?"

Brass chose at that moment to make an entrance. "Sorry I'm late," the detective said with a careless grin. "Got caught up in the hallway. Gil, meet Valerie. Valerie, meet your supervisor."

The woman's smile grew a little wider, and she held out a hand. Grissom rose from his seat, and shook it. Gil looked over to Brass for an explanation. "I don't like to be confused, Jim."

"Oh, yes, my apologies." Brass was still smiling. "Catherine told me to find a temporary replacement, right? Well, after I put word on CSI-net, Valerie here volunteered to take her place."

The woman nodded. "I've got my transfer papers signed and everything, in case you're wondering." She held out a small file. Grissom took it and leafed through the papers as Brass kept talking.

"Valerie here flew down from Washington to help us out. Her supervisor didn't mind, and neither did Valerie here. When she saw the notice, she volunteered immediately." Behind Valerie's back, Jim made the 'ok' sign, then grinned.

Grissom looked down at the papers he was holding, squinting through his glasses. _Valerie Wilks, Seattle, Washington_. _CSI Level 3_. Grissom blinked, impressed, but a little confused. _All these cases she's worked on_… _And she comes to Vegas with barely an hour's notice_?

"Well, now that that's all sorted, I've got to get back to work." Jim shook Valerie's hand, then left Grissom's office. "Just don't work her too hard!" He called, his voice echoing in the corridors as he sauntered away.

The woman continued to stand in front of Grissom's desk, waiting, the smile still on her face. Grissom sat down, and motioned for Valerie to do the same.

"I wasn't expecting a replacement for Catherine so soon." He admitted wryly. The young woman laughed softly.

"Well, Washington to Nevada isn't that far. And I'm far too punctual for my own good," she grinned, "Plus I'm always on the lookout for a chance to travel. And I love my job. No matter what state I'm in."

Grissom thumbed through Valerie's file. "So you're a prominent CSI, working in Seattle on the…" He paused, then looked up at Valerie, somewhat incredulous, and a little mocking, "_Day_ shift?"

The woman shrugged. "Day or night, what does it matter? Solving crimes what CSI's do, yeah?" She smiled, tossing her copper mane. "And you guys were one CSI short, so here I am!"

"And your supervisor has no problem with you being here?"

"Of course not." Valerie smiled. "I just got back from an interstate case, and the criminals a little sluggish this week." Valerie twisted a stand of her hair between her fingers as she talked. "Besides, we're a little inundated in Seattle right now - a handful of cadets just got promoted. So I'm surplus." The woman laughed. "But that doesn't mean I'm of poorer quality, Mr Grissom." She smiled sweetly at Gil. "But if you have any questions, my supervisor is just a phonecall away."

Grissom smiled, then handed the woman back her file. He held out his hand, and shook her hand again. "Welcome to Las Vegas Crime Lab, Ms Wilks." He smiled a little more. "I hope you don't mind that we put you to work straight away."

The woman smiled graciously. "Not at all. It's why I'm here, isn't it?"

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"Ma'am, I know you've already told the officer everything," Warrick explained patiently, "But I have some questions I need to ask you personally."

The woman stared back at Warrick, horrified. "You think we killed him, don't you? Phillip," she turned to her husband, "He thinks we killed your father! Are you just going to stand there and let him say things like that?! Are you going to let him get away with it?!" The man hanging of his wife's arm looked harried, hen-pecked… but unlikely to start a fight.

Warrick sighed, "No, it's not my job to make assumptions. _Ma'am_," He bit out the word - this lady was being _very_ unladylike - then slathered on the Brown-brand charm, "I need to ask you a few questions about your father. Did he have any heart problems? Did he have to go in for transplants or operations recently?"

The woman looked barely appeased; her mouth twisted sourly. "Yeah," she admitted grudgingly, "He had heart problems. He had to take pills every now and then to keep his ticker ticking." She brightened a little. "You mean his heart just stopped? He had a stroke? Does that mean you'll go away and leave us in peace?"

Warrick smiled tightly. "We'll see, ma'am." He turned and watched as the paramedics placed the old man's body into a body bag and carted him out the door. Warrick turned back, and smiled. Notebook in hand, he took a deep breath and tried again. "Now, Mr and Mrs Carson, can you tell me again what happened when you came home?"

"It's like I told the officer," Mrs Carson snapped, "We came home, sawPhillip's father asleep on the couch. We went to go check up on the kids. They were asleep. We go to make ourselves a late-night snack, and we wake up Tony. Tony comes down, turns on TV, sits next to grandpa. Next thing we know, Tony's screaming that grandpa's hurt himself. We go out, there's grandfather face-down on the coffee table, not breathing, his ticker not tickin'." She gave Warrick a very pointed look, as though to say, _We had nothing to do with this so don't you dare suspect us_.

"So let me get this straight," Warrick directed this question to Mr Carson, "You didn't know that your father had died until your kid knocked him off the couch?"

Phillip Carson looked to his wife for support before nodding. "Yeah. It just doesn't make any sense." The man sighed, and shook his head. "The doctor said that my dad had at least another three months. And he was fine when we left."

"Yeah," Warrick put his notes away, "A lot can happen in three hours."

"And what is that supposed to mean?!" Mrs Carson stared, "You still think we killed him? I don't buh-leave this!"

Warrick smiled again. "We'll see what the evidence has to tell us… ma'am."

The woman snorted, and jabbed a finger at the CSI warningly. "Evidence? I'll give you evidence! That old man had a history of heart problems, and it was only a matter of time before his heart gave out. So don't you dare come into our home with all your ideas and assumptions about what terrible people we are, because we did not kill David! And another thing…"

Inside, Warrick despaired. This was going to be a long night.

**

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TBC **

**A/N:** Both Warrick and Nick are having long nights, it seems. :) Anyhoo, I love reviews. Flamers shall be stabbed, strangled, castrated (or spayed) and then made to star in a CSI fanfic of my choice. Can you tell I don't like flamers?

**-edit- **Fixed up the name of Val's work place. Thanks to that flamer (you know who you are) for the flame! I'm going to have to kill you now, you realize that… Next time, read the story, kay?


	5. New Girl at the Scene

**Disclaimer**: I don't own CSI, but I would give my right arm to date Greg. The OC is mine, hands off. **Tinuviel Undomiel** and **Nerwen Aldarion** rock forever more.

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"Hey, Grissom?" 

Grissom looked up. Sara was leaning against the doorway of his office, a frown creasing her pretty face, her arms folded.

"I ran prints on the gun," she said, "The vic was the last person to hold it. His fingerprints are all over it - and they're the only ones."

Grissom smiled slightly, then hid it with a frown of his own. "Maybe the attacker wore gloves?"

"Don't think I didn't see that," Sara said, coming into Grissom's office. "You know something's up, and you're not sharing it."

Grissom tilted his head, and didn't bother to hide his smile this time. "Well, maybe you should ask Warrick. He was on the scene before you arrived."

Sara shook her head, a little despairingly. "So... you're not even going to tell me?"

Grissom smiled. "You'll figure it out, Sara. I know you will." He rose to his feet. "Now, shall we go and identify our mystery man?"

"Grissom..."

The scientist stopped at the doorway, and looked back over his shoulder. "Or you can wait here. It's up to you." He turned and began his usual business-like plodding down the corridor.

Sara turned and reluctantly followed after Grissom, but at a distance. She discreetly took out her phone and dialled a number.

"_Warrick_."

"Hey, Warrick, it's Sara." Sara whispered, "What did Grissom tell you when you were taking photos at the crime scene?"

"_He said the dead guy was lying, whatever that means. Hey, Sidle_?"

Sara smiled slightly. "Yeah?"

"_How come I got pulled off a hot case and you got my job tonight_?"

"Ah..." Sara shrugged into the phone. "Gee, I don't know. Grissom?"

Warrick snorted. "_Yeah. Figures. Later_."

"Bye."

As Sara rounded the corner, she found Grissom waiting for her.

"According to the security guard's statement," Grissom said, "John Doe was being blackmailed. He told the guard to go away before 'he killed her'."

"So he was lying." Sara nodded, the added, "Because a blackmailer wouldn't kill someone - that's the job of a kidnapper. A blackmailer would only threaten to reveal a secret, but with the source of a secret gone, there's nothing to tell."

Grissom nodded, smiling. "I'm going to re-examine our Mr Doe, see if we can find some identification on him. I want you to look over his vehicle, see if you can find any clues about why he would lie."

Sara nodded. "Right." She started towards the garage.

As she neared the end of the corridor, Grissom called out after her, "What else did Warrick have to say?"

Sara hid a smile and refused to comment.

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The lights were out, and Nick was relying on his flashlight. There was blood pooled under Matthew Hunter's body, and a faint trace of blood spatter on the kitchen cabinet doors. The whole house was silent. Nick could feel the eyes of all those dead animals boring into the back of his skull.

"Creepy in here, isn't it?"

Nick yelled, and spun around. His flashlight shone right into the eyes of a woman. She squinted, and held up a hand to shade her eyes.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Nick asked, a little abruptly, as he lowered his flashlight.

The woman just smiled.

"What are you doing here, ma'am? This is a crime scene."

"And that's exactly why I'm here," she smiled. "Valerie Wilks."

Nick blinked. His heart rate was slowly returning to normal. "Well, Ms Wilks, it's nice that you're here, but I'm kinda working right now, so if you could please kindly leave, and not sneak up on me again, it would be much appreciated."

The woman, Valerie, tilted her head. Her smile didn't even fade. "You mean Dr Grissom hasn't called you yet?"

"Grissom?" Nick frowned. "How do you know Grissom?"

Valerie continued to smile. "He's my supervisor... for the week."

Nick took a moment to process this information. "You're... Catherine's replacement?"

"Temporary replacement." Valerie grinned. "And you must be Nick Stokes. Nice to meet you. Sorry to scare you." She paused, and looked around the apartment in the dark. "It might be easier to see with a bit of light." She reached for the light switch, and the room was suddenly lit up.

Nick could see his new partner better now. She had the figure and poise of a supermodel. She was tall, slim, and her suit, professional as it was, emphasised her femininity very nicely. Her eyes were a vibrant green, and her smile was wide and warm. Her skin was lightly tanned and flawlessly smooth. Her hair was long, copper-red, bounced in slight waves down her shoulders.

She made CSI look good. Pretty, pretty good.

"What have you found so far?" She asked, coming over, unaware of Nick's silent appraisal. She wrinkled her nose when she saw the amount of blood on the kitchen floor, but knelt down beside Nick, her shoulder brushing his slightly.

"Umm, well..." Nick brought his mind back to the job. "Well, I couldn't find any blood on any knives in the dishwasher or the drawers."

"It doesn't look like this hunter was killed by a knife, Mr Stokes," Valerie said, her glowed hands tracing the air over the wound in the man's stomach. "It looked like he was run through by..." She twisted, and pointed at the back wall. "One of those."

Nick turned around, and looked where Valerie was pointing. The rhino stared down at him with ugly piggy eyes.

"I mean," Valerie said, rising to her feet, "There are hundreds of murder weapons in this very room." She strolled around the apartment, pointing out examples. "Hunting guns in glass cases, tusks, spears, antlers..." She picked up the stuffed puma cub, and hefted it in her hands. The cat's snarl did not waver, and its feet did not scrabble for solid ground. For some strange reason, Nick felt better about that. Valerie smiled wryly at him. "You could probably club someone to death with this, you know."

Nick fought back a smile. "So you're saying it was a weapon of opportunity?"

Valerie placed the puma back down carefully, then nodded. "Of course. I think we should check for dust, to see if anything's been moved." She looked around the apartment, then turned her winning smile back on Nick, asking, "You did see the footprints, right?"

"Footprints?" Nick rose to his feet. "What footprints?"

Valerie headed for the door, Nick trailing behind her. "There," she pointed at the section of apartment floor closest to the door. "You see that?"

Nick looked. The apartment had an unusual set of floors - for the first few feet around the entranceway, the floor was wood, but the rest of the apartment was carpeted. Shag carpeted. Valerie was pointing to the wooden-floors area near the front of the door. A sort of entrance-way, if you will.

And Nick didn't see anything.

Valerie rolled her eyes, then stepped forward and pushed her foot up alongside one of the floorboards. And she pointed again. "See that small hole near my heel?" Nick looked again. Now that it was pointed out, he noticed. Valerie pursed her lips, and looked thoughtful. "Hm," she mused, looking down at her foot, "And they're just about my size, too."

"How is that 'footprints'?" Nick asked, unable to hide a raised eyebrow. "They're just holes in wood."

The woman smiled, a little patronisingly. "What do you know about elephants, Mr Stokes?"

"Elephants?" Where on earth was this going? "Big, grey, peanut addiction..."

"And their feet are bean-bags," Valerie finished, kneeling down and opening her kit. "They have been known to walk over mud, even wet concrete, and not leave a footprint." She pulled out a small measuring tape, and measured from the small hole to a scuff mark in the floor Nick hadn't noticed. "Women in stiletto heels, however, have been known to drill holes in hardwood floors." She smiled up at Nick, the measuring tape sliding shut with a metallic click. "It's all in the feet, Mr Stokes."

"The amount of pressure exerted over a certain area," Nick nodded, catching on. "The elephant's foot..." He pointed to the umbrella stand behind Val, "Is wider, padded, so the pressure is spread out. Stiletto heels have a small, sharp point of pressure..."

"Digging nice holes in the floor for us to find." Valerie finished, a little smugly. "And, given the carnage in the kitchen, I'd say Mr Hunter was killed by a rather angry woman." She smiled archly at Nick. "But then, I'm only the temp."

Nick fought with a smile. "Those holes could have been made by any female visitor Mr Hunter could have entertained. Look, I agree with you when you say that Matthew Hunter could have been killed by a woman, but there's no proof Miss Stiletto Heels was at the crime scene, nor part of this timeline. This evidence doesn't exactly help us."

Valerie shrugged. "Alright, Mr Stokes, whatever you say. You go on back to collecting valuable information, and I'll just take photos and casts of these useless prints, shall I?" She smirked. "We're going to be a great team at this rate." She smiled winningly before raising the camera to her eye and snapping away at the floorboards.

Nick sighed and headed back to the kitchen. He had to admit, he deserved that. But this woman, Valerie, she was sure something. And she knew her stuff. Not bad for a temp.

Not bad at all.

* * *

**TBC**

**A/N:** Nerwen and Tinuviel will be helping me with a lot of the fluff, since I can't write fluff without having to mangle, murder or stab... in real life or on the page. Reviews make you my best friend ever, and you can come to my birthday party.


	6. Welcome to Vegas

**Disclaimer**: CSI blah blah blah not mine blah blah blah waffle iron blah blah blah.

* * *

Warrick watched as the paramedics carted away the body of David Carson in a black body bag, then got to work. Mrs Carson was no help at all. 

"I don't know why you're doing this," she said at one point. "You're going to find our fingerprints over everything. It's not going to make any difference."

"Just doin' my job, ma'am." Warrick said through clenched teeth.

"Well, you're going about it all wrong!"

Eventually, Mr Carson was able to convince his wife to go check up on the kids. "Sorry about that," the man apologised when Mrs Carson was gone, "She can be... difficult."

_That's the understatement of the century_, Warrick thought darkly. He lifted up the newspaper. Underneath was a bottle of pills. Warrick shook it experimentally. Only a few tablets clattered around inside.

"Didn't you say your father took heart pills?" Warrick asked Phillip.

The man nodded. "Yeah, he went in for an operation recently, and the doctors gave him pills to take every four hours."

"How recently?"

The man paused, thinking. "About a week ago, I guess."

The label on the bottle said '_Contains 150 tablets_'. Doing the math, Warrick frowned. "If he took one every four hours for a week, that means there should be a lot more in here. He shouldn't have taken any more than 45."

Warrick's thoughts were interrupted by a shrill beeping coming from somewhere near the entertainment system.

"That's dad's clock," Phillip explained as Warrick rose to his feet. "We set it to go off every four hours, and dad takes a pill whenever the clock goes off." The man's mouth twisted wryly. "It was my wife's idea."

_Mrs. Carson waves the clock in David Carson's face, speaking loudly and shrilly. "Every time this clock goes off, you take one of these pills, alright? And only one pill! Don't forget it!" She sets the clock on the counter, and repeats her instructions. Four hours later, the clock beeped insistently, and David, obediently, took a pill. Four hours later, the clock rang again, and David took another pill._

_Phillip bowed his head, saddened to see his father reduced to this state._

Warrick picked up the clock, and pressed the button on the side. On the front of the clock, the timer reset - and started counting up from zero. _Might as well bag it_, he figured, _You never know - it might be evidence_. He slipped it into a bag.

"Your father just won a whole lotta cash, didn't he?" Warrick asked Phillip conversationally.

Phillip nodded. "Oh, yeah, I always buy him one of those lucky tickets from the gas station, put his name on the receipt. Turns out he won half a million just last week. All the money is in his account."

"So if he dies, who does the money go to?"

"That's enough, Phillip." Mrs Carson came in, one of the children in her arms and the other trailing behind her. Both children looked very alert. The woman glared at Warrick. "I think you've asked enough questions for tonight. Why don't you come back at a more decent time, when we're all awake?"

"Your children look wide awake," Warrick said, "Do you think I could talk to them?"

Mrs Carson stiffened. "I said, I think it would be _best_ if you came _back_ at a more _decent_ time."

"He fell asleep," the child behind Mrs Carson's legs whimpered. "He does that a lot, in front of the TV."

"Craig..." Mrs Carson warned.

"Oh, let him speak, Janine." Mr Carson interrupted. "The sooner we tell them what happened, the sooner they'll leave." Warrick didn't turn around, but he could tell from the man's tone of voice that Mr Carson was siding with him.

Mrs Carson's lips tightened, but she nudged her older son forward. "Go on, Craig. Tell the man _everything_." She made the word sarcastic, but her child moved towards Warrick with all seriousness.

"We were playing on the Nintendo." The ten-year-old said, looking up at Warrick with a mixture of awe and fear. _Probably thinks I'm a cop_, Warrick thought wryly. The kid looked up to his mother then continued, "We were having turns. We were being fair."

"_My turn now!" Toby shouted at his older brother. "You heard it! It's time!"_

"_Not now! I'm almost winning!" Craig yelled back._

"_I'll tell grandpa, and he'll tell MOM!"_

Craig scuffed his feet on the carpet. "Well, when it got dark, we stopped playing games, and I gave Toby a glass of milk, and we both brushed our teeth and went to bed. Mom and Dad came home later, and they woke me up. So I went downstairs to play more games, and Toby came with me..."

Warrick nodded. "Alright, go on."

Craig's lip trembled. "I sat on the couch, next to grandpa, and... and he fell over. He hit his head and he wouldn't move. Toby came down, and I told him to call the police. Then Mom came in and told us not to, but Toby had already called and the police were coming..."

"Alright, that's enough." Mrs Carson interrupted. She scowled at Warrick. "Have you heard enough?"

Warrick looked up at the woman, his patience replaced with dark suspicion. "More than enough, ma'am."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The autopsy room was cold and silent, and Dr Robbins was the only person in there.

Only living person.

Matthew Hunter lay on the autopsy table, face-up, covered only by a thin plastic sheet. Dr Robbins whistled to himself as he hobbled towards the body. _Nick and his partner are going to get a big surprise from this one_, Robbins chuckled.

The door opened, pulling in traces of conversation between Nick and a red-head in a navy suit. Both of them grabbed scrubs off the wall and put them on before coming over.

Dr Robbins looked up from the body on the table. "Hey Nick." He nodded to Valerie. "And Miss...?"

"Valerie Wilks." Valerie said, tying her hair back. "Temporary transfer from Seattle."

Dr Robbins shook Valerie's hand. "Welcome to the family." Valerie smiled back.

"So, doc," Nick said, businesslike, "What do we know about Matthew Hunter?"

"Well I heard about Valerie's theory that your trophy hunter was stabbed by an animal horn..." Dr Robbins pulled back the sheet covering the victim's body, revealing the gaping stab wound. Cleaned, it was still gory. "And for a while, I agreed with her."

"For a while?" Valerie raised an eyebrow. "What did you find?"

Dr Robbins tilted his head. "Are you sure you're not a younger version of Catherine?" When Valerie looked blank, the coroner shook his head. "Sorry. But you reminded me of the CSI you're temporarily replacing."

"I'll take that as a complement," Valerie said with a slight smile, "But you didn't answer my question."

"GSR."

"Hold up," Nick frowned. "You found gunshot-residue... in a stab wound?"

Dr Robbins shrugged. "Don't blame me for finding another piece of the puzzle."

Valerie said nothing, but sighed through her teeth.

"So," Nick elaborated, "We're not only looking for a knife, we're looking for a gun?"

"I know you CSI's are big into theories," Robbins said, grinning, "So how about you listen to mine?" With a nod from Nick, Robbins continued, "He was shot, close range, started bleeding. Then, to hide the bullet wound, the shooter grabs an animal-horn knife and stabs him, over and over again."

_The bullet ripped though the body, narrowly missing the spine. The bullet pierced open the stomach, spilling stomach acid onto the surrounding organs. The body started destroying itself with its own defences. But before the damage became too great, the knife entered, tearing open the narrow bullet-wound, forcing a wider, gaping hole through the man's gut. The knife opened up veins and arteries, severed the small intestine, and then pierced out the back. Blood spurted everywhere - it couldn't have taken more than a minute for Mr Hunter to bleed to death._

"Two weapons, one murder?" Valerie smiled wryly. "Never seen that before."

"Welcome to Vegas." Nick shrugged.

* * *

**A/N**: Nick has not yet been recommended as Lead CSI, Greg's only outing was on 'Chasing the Bus' and Sara and Grissom still can't get it together. Grissom also doesn't have that weird beard and Nick hasn't shaved his head. A season two-based fanfic with a great many salutes to seasons three and four. Reviewers get cyber-cookies. 


	7. Not To Be Sneezed At

**Disclaimer**: Insert something humorous here about how I don't own CSI.

* * *

Sara ran her flashlight over the car. Prints on the doorhandle were the victim's, there was no doubt about that. Passenger door was the same. Sara found the evidence agreeing with Grissom's theory - if he was being blackmailed, he should have had some sort of bag to hold money for a payoff. With the passenger window up, a blackmailer would have had to open the door, not only to get the money, but to shoot John Doe. If the blackmailer wore gloves, then the fingerprints on either of the doors would have been smudged. They weren't. 

Sara frowned as she climbed into the passenger side of the land rover. Grissom was still hiding something. Why did he have to be so difficult? He could just share what he knew, and the case would be solved much faster... It was so typical of him, keeping to himself, not sharing anything, not even...

Mobile phone, hidden under passenger seat.

Sara reached under and picked it up. An earlier Nokia version, nothing too flash. She turned it on. The batteries were full. Sara smiled. The last calls had been made within an hour of the man's death. Prime evidence. All she needed to do was trace the calls and find out exactly what John was up to in his last few hours and she'd have the case in the bag.

Sara shone her flashlight around the car's interior one more time. She saw the bullet hole in the roof of the car, where one of the bullets had pierced John Doe's skull. Idly, she wondered if Grissom had discovered anything new in the autopsy room.

Grissom sneezed. Dr Robbins looked up.

"Sorry," Grissom apologised.

Dr Robbins shook his head. "At least you covered your mouth."

Grissom sighed, then focused on the body on the table in front of him. "So, doc, what do we know?"

The coroner shrugged. "Two bullets, four holes. They came in, went out. Shredded his brain, severed his trachea, opened up his jugular and both his carotids, and barely missed his spine." Dr Robbins shook his head. "Though it wouldn't matter, because he was dead within minutes."

"'Shredded his brain'?"

"Yeah," Dr Robbins hobbled over to an x-ray of the dead man's skull. "Bullet entered here," he pointed just below the man's jaw-line, "And came up through here." He pointed to a noticeable hole in the man's skull on the right side.

_The bullet tore through the man's neck and up through the roof of his mouth. Without losing momentum, the bullet ripped though the top of his skull. Brain matter splattered everywhere, reduced to jell-o in seconds, both in and out of the skull_.

"But for some reason, the bit of his brain controlling the heart was left intact, so it kept beating."

Grissom frowned. "Violently brain-dead yet still alive?"

"Ain't that something."

"That would explain all the blood," Grissom shrugged. "Anything else?"

"He was high."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "He was on drugs?"

"I found small injection wounds in his arms, both old and new," Dr Robbins hobbled back to the dead man's body. "Ran a tox-screen. Came back positive for heroin." The undersides of the man's elbows looked like pincushions.

"Paranoid _and _expecting someone." Grissom said thoughtfully. "An interesting mix." He looked down at the pale cold body of the unknown man. "Do we have enough for identification yet?"

"Ran his dental records. Luckily there were still enough teeth in his mouth for that. Came back Damien Peterson, 29, has a history of drug use and a couple of fines and jail terms for possession. His bank account is very, very red." Dr Robbins shook his head. "His whole life story told by the money he doesn't have."

Grissom sighed. "Thanks, doc."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_It's got to be Mrs Carson_, Warrick thought darkly as he drove back to the lab. _She wanted me out of her house ASAP, and according to the kids, didn't want to call the police. She's got something she's not sharing'. I can just tell_.

A sudden shrill alarm made Warrick nearly swerve into the next lane.

"What the...!"

Cars beeped their horns as Warrick brought his Tahoe back out of incoming traffic. _What the hell was that? Nearly gave me a heart attack_!

The shrill beeping continued until Warrick realised it was the clock he had brought from the Carson's house. He pulled into a side road and rifled around in his evidence case until he found the clock. Through the plastic of the back it was in, Warrick pressed the button on the clock. The silence after the alarm was turned off was a major relief... but also strangely deafening.

"I thought you were supposed to only go off every four hours," Warrick glowered at the clock accusingly. The clock didn't answer, but started counting up from zero again.

Warrick frowned, an idea slowly coming to him. He headed back to the lab, a theory already buzzing around in his head.

* * *

**A/N**: Nick has not yet been recommended as Lead CSI, Greg's only outing was on 'Chasing the Bus' and Sara and Grissom still can't get it together. Grissom also doesn't have that weird beard and Nick hasn't shaved his head. A season two-based fanfic with a great many salutes to seasons three and four. 

I love suggestions, reviews, and hot chocolate with marshmallows.


	8. I Like Your Hair

**Disclaimer**: If I owe you money, you own CSI. Well, not really, but anyway...

* * *

Grissom came into the lounge. "Hey, Sara, what have you found?" 

Sara pushed a pile of papers across to him, followed by a phone in an evidence bag. "I found Mr Damien Peterson's phone in his car, and I traced the calls."

"Damien Peterson?" Grissom tilted his head, pretending to be surprised.

"Nice try, Grissom. The vic. But you already knew that."

Grissom smiled a little. "You know me too well."

"Do I?" She shrugged, then indicated the papers. "I traced his calls. Most were to a Gina Thompson and a Derek Powers. Brass already contacted Derek, and Derek agreed to speak with us. Brass hasn't been able to find Gina Thompson yet, but he's looking into it."

"Did you tell them that the owner of the phone was dead?"

Sara just looked at him. "No. Because if I did, it would give them time to make an alibi and an excuse."

The phone in the bag started to ring.

"I'll get it," Grissom said, opening the bag. He was still wearing his gloves.

"You're late," a voice rasped at the other end of the phone. "If you want to keep both your legs, Peterson, you'd better get that money tonight."

"And who am I speaking to?" Grissom asked politely.

The voice on the other end paused. "Who is this?"

"Gil Grissom, Las Vegas Crime Lab. Damien Peterson is dead, and I'm investigating this case."

"Holy crap!" The voice snarled. "He still owes us five g's!"

Grissom shrugged. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you. Listen, if you're not to busy, do you mind if I ask you a few..."

The line went dead.

"... Questions..."

Sara smiled at Grissom. "So, how'd it go?"

Grissom put the phone back in the bag. "Apparently, Mr Peterson owes some unhappy people a lot of money."

"So they killed him over it?"

Grissom shook his head. "If they killed Damien, why would they call and tell him to 'bring the money tonight'?"

"To avoid suspicion?"

Grissom just smiled.

Sara frowned. "You're not telling me something."

"I'm not telling you a lot of things, Sara Sidle." He rose to his feet. "Come on, let's go find Derek Powers."

Sara rose a little slower. _I hate it when he does that_, she thought to herself.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Roast in the oven, wineglasses on the table, half-empty wine bottle... And that's just the stuff out in the open." Valerie handed over her notes and the photos to Nick, talking as they walked through the corridors of the lab. "Stabbing has to be close and personal, and there were no defensive wounds on his hands or arms. Wanna hear my theory?"

"Be my guest." Nick said.

"He invites the woman home, for a little romantic dinner," Valerie sighed, a little disgusted. "She wore stilettos, and, I'm guessing, a very, very little black dress. He's made a lovely dinner, turned the lights down low, dressed to impress... and she kills him. And unsurprisingly, he wasn't expecting it."

Nick smiled. "Hey, maybe he was planning one thing, she another. Hell hath no fury, you know... No offence."

"None taken." Valerie sighed through clenched teeth. "But why does something stink?" She shook her head. "Something is not right about this."

"Well, there's one way to find out." Nick handed Val back her notes. "You know those fibres you found? I sent them to trace." He smiled. "Come meet Greg."

Greg had his back to the pair as they entered the lab, nodding his head to a heavy rock beat. Nick winced apologetically at Valerie, but the red-head was bobbing slightly along with the beat.

"Metallica. Nice."

Greg whirled, somehow able to hear the woman's voice over the incredibly loud music. He turned the stereo off immediately, then stood at attention.

"Hey Greg," Nick smiled, almost wearily. "Did you process those fibres yet?"

Greg smiled slightly. "Aren't you going to introduce me?" He gestured to Valerie. "I've not had the chance to meet this lovely partner of yours."

"Flatterer." Valerie smirked, and held out a hand. "Valerie Wilks, Seattle."

Greg took her hand and bowed over it. "Greg Sanders, Vegas."

"Nick Stokes, impatient." Nick stepped forward, stopping Greg before he could kiss Valerie's hand. "Answer my question, man!"

Nick stepped back, looking a little miffed. "Yes, I did process the fibres." He snagged a piece of paper off the printer. "They came back vic, vic, vic, unknown, unknown, and vic."

"Better than nothing." Valerie shrugged.

"And one fibre I couldn't process." Greg handed the paper to Valerie. "Because it's not human."

Valerie looked at the sheet, and frowned. "If it was animal, I might not be surprised."

Nick looked over Valerie's shoulder. "A non-organic fibre? So what is it?"

Greg stepped back and gestured extravagantly at the lab equipment. "Come to the scope, Stokes."

Nick came forward and looked through the microscope. Valerie looked through the other scope.

"It's not hair." Nick frowned.

"Could be a bit of shag carpet," Valerie hazarded, "I mean, I could have gotten careless."

"No, this isn't carpet," Nick squinted into the scope. "But it does look like hair..."

"Almost," Greg smirked. "I've got friends in the lab, remember? Ran some tests, ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom... wig fibre."

Valerie lifted her head. "Wig fibre?"

"So," Greg clapped his hands and looked insanely pleased with himself. "Did I solve the case?"

Nick shook his head. "No, Greg. You just made it harder."

"Anyone could have come into the apartment," Valerie frowned, her mind already working over the case. "He could have invited someone over, but someone came over dressed up like who Hunter was expecting, or maybe he invited someone over that wasn't who he wasn't expecting, or..."

"Slow down, Valerie." Nick held up his hands. "I don't know how you work in Seattle, but down here, we let the evidence tell the story."

Val pursed her lips in thought, still frowning. "Sometimes, Nick, the evidence tells a pretty fuzzy story." She flipped through her papers thoughtfully, then looked back up at Greg and Nick. "I'm going to get a few things, then head back to Mr Hunter's apartment. See what we can find."

"Yeah," Nick nodded, "I'll catch up."

Valerie nodded at Nick, then smiled at the labrat. "Bye, Greg. Thanks for your help." She left the lab and headed down the corridors.

"Y'see that, man?"

Nick raised an eyebrow and looked up at Greg. "See what?"

Greg nodded and smirked. "She was checkin' me out."

With mock seriousness, Nick nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

"No, no." Greg grinned. "I can tell. She was scoping me out." He smirked again. "It's the hair." He waved both his hands over his head, mockingly adjusting his 'do.

Nick shook his head pityingly. "You keep dreaming, player."

As Nick left the DNA lab, Greg called out, "I bet I get her number before you do!" Nick couldn't help but roll his eyes. Yah. Her number. Sure.

* * *

**A/N**: Greg has cool hair. Nick, when he shaved his head, did not. Nick without shaved head equals cool hair. Reviews? 

i suck at disclaimers and author's notes today...


	9. A Pair Of Flirts

**Disclaimer**: I'm a writer, I make my own stuff, but CSI is not my own work. That makes me sad. Fanfic makes me happy, though.

* * *

The lights of Vegas shone day or night, but down on street level the jewel of Nevada didn't exactly sparkle with the same lustre that it did from the sky. 

"Don't use it all up at once!" A middle-aged man chuckled, handing over an unmarked package to a haggard-looking junkie. The junkie nodded before shuffling away into the night. The man lit a cigarette and leant against the wall, waiting for his next customer.

"Derek Powers?"

The man looked up. "Yeah? What you want?"

"I'm Gil Grissom and this is Sara Sidle, we're with the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

Derek nodded. "Yeah, I remember. You wanted to talk to me about Damien? Look, I'm really sorry that he's dead, seeing as he was one of my best customers and all, but I had nothing to do with it."

"We know," Sara said. "But we'd like to ask you a few questions anyway."

Derek blew a plume of smoke up in the air. "Sure, why not? I'll answer any question you ask, sweetheart." He grinned.

Sara blinked, but didn't bite. "Are you the one that supplied Damien's heroine?"

Derek shrugged. "It wasn't all I 'supplied him with', darlin'. Pot, crack, ice, you name it, he tried it. The kid had some issues, y'know?"

"Yeah," Grissom interrupted, a little tersely. "We know. He's dead."

"Hey," Derek held up his hands, defensively, "You said you wanted to ask me questions. I'm going out on a limb here, helping you guys out. You could turn me in for possession, for supplying, y'know? Keep acting like a cop and you ain't getting' nothin' outta me."

"We're not going to get you for anything if you just answer our questions."

Derek looked gratefully at Sara. "Well, thanks for being the good cop, honey. After the questions, you wanna stick around a bit? I could show ya the sights if you want."

"No."

Derek shrugged and took another pull from his cigarette. "I'll be waiting."

Grissom cleared his throat. "So did Damien owe you much money?"

"Piles of it," Derek shrugged. "But so does just about every junkie in town. But I've got muscle, y'know? If I don't like a kid, and the kid I don't like owes me money, I send the boys." Derek poked his cigarette in Grissom's direction. "But Damien? I liked that kid. He owed me, but he wasn't exactly the kind of kid you can get mad at. He was like a son to me, really. When he was having trouble with his girl, he'd come and talk it out with me. When he got fired, I hooked him up with a friend of mine, gave him a chance." Derek sighed. "But the kid had more than just substance addictions, y'know? There was his girlfriend, and then his mistress - money."

"But he didn't have any." Sara frowned.

Derek nodded, grinning again. "Exactly. But whatever he got, he put it into the casinos. He was always saying that one day he'd strike it rich, that one day he'd pay back everything he owed me." Derek shook his head, saddened. "Casinos don't like the kids. They like the money. And their muscle is a lot less caring than mine."

Grissom nodded. "I see."

"Yeah." Derek dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his foot. "I wish I did. I coulda talked him out of it, y'know?"

"Thanks for your time," Sara said, turning away.

"Anytime, doll. Hey, come round here anytime you feel like it! There's more to Derek Powers than just drugs!"

Sara shuddered once out of the man's sight.

"Well you handled that very well," Grissom commented dryly.

"Thanks." Sara said flatly. "You could have been a bit more supportive, though."

Grissom shrugged. "You were doing fine on your own. But next time," he added, "Try not to be 'the good cop'."

"It got him to talk, didn't it?"

Grissom cleared his throat. "Let's get back to the lab."

"Were you going to say something, Grissom?"

Grissom turned back to look at Sara. He paused, shook his head. "No."

Sara sighed. "Thought so."

She walked past him, her head down. Grissom watched her go. And sighed.

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Warrick headed through the corridors, headed for the coronary. As he passed the DNA lab, the CSI paused at the doorway, and frowned.

Greg had cleaned up the lab, and the stereo wasn't blasting out punk rock. Rather, slow, soft classical music was playing.

"Did I miss something?" Warrick frowned.

Greg grinned back at Warrick from behind the machinery. "If you had met the lovely Valerie Wilks, you wouldn't be asking."

"Valerie who?"

Greg spun around on his chair and shook his head pityingly. "Valerie Wilks, Seattle. Catherine's temporary replacement." He made the 'ok' sign with his hand. "Fine doesn't even BEGIN to cover it." Greg spun around in his chair again and 'swooned'. "I'm in love."

Warrick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, ok then, Casanova, when you're done fantasising, get back to work."

Greg saluted. "Sure, why not. If there is work to be done, Sanders is on it." The labrat stretched and leaned back in his chair.

"And while you're at it," Warrick shook his head, "Take that crap off the radio or people are going to start talking."

"I'll have you know," Greg replied, a little annoyed, "That I happen to be going through a phase."

Warrick smirked. "You'd better get out of it, before Grissom decides to give you a psyche eval."

Greg blinked. "Duly warned." As Warrick walked away, Metallica began playing again.

Archie poked his head out of the AV room to greet Warrick as he passed. "That's a relief. For a moment, I was worried that Greg was going weird."

"Since when hasn't Greg been weird?" Warrick grinned back.

* * *

A/N: Greg, Greg, Greg... -hugs him- As Nerwen and Tuniviel know, you're in for a shock. You poor little muffin. -hugs again- Anyhoo, reviews make me happy. I've almost finished this 'episode'! Yayness! 


	10. Phones Calls and Poodles

**Disclaimer**: CSI is awesome. But it's not mine. It's still awesome, but it's just not mine.

* * *

"I shop, sing at karaoke bars, and take photos."

Nick smiled. "Photos? What of?"

Valerie shrugged. "Skyscapes, cloudscapes, scenery... the sky, mostly." She smiled back at Nick. "Working on Day shift didn't exactly give me golden opportunities to photograph the sky during work hours, but it allowed for great sunsets and sunrises." She tied her hair back into a ponytail. "And you? What do you do in your spare time?"

Nick shone his torch around the inside of the kitchen cabinet, looking for the elusive bullet. "Oh, this and that."

Valerie laughed. "Ok, fine, be mysterious. I'll figure you out eventually."

"You sure about that?" Nick turned back to face his partner. "In one week?"

Val's expression went from coy to serious in a second. "You never know, Nick. You never know." She flicked through Matthew Hunter's mail, a frown forming as she concentrated on the case.

Nick allowed himself a small smile. _She's something_, he thought to himself. _She's really something. I wonder if she'd like to have breakfast with me when our shift's over_...

A cheery ring-tone started, somewhat muffled, from inside nearby Valerie. The red-haired CSI dropped the mail on the table and fumbled in her jacket pocket. She looked up at Nick, apologetically.

"Could I take this? It's important."

Nick shrugged. "Don't let me stop you."

Valerie headed just outside of the apartment before she answered. Nick couldn't see her, but could hear her every word. "Hello? Oh, hey! I've been meaning to call you!"

Nick paused in his search, suddenly suspicious. An important phonecall? Who could be calling her?

"How have you been? I'm great. Listen, I'm on a case right now... No, you're not disturbing me..."

Nick forced himself to look back under the sink. _No, not disturbing her at all, go right ahead_...

"Yeah, I know... I'll call you as soon as I'm on break..." Valerie's voice went serious. "On my honour, Your Honour." She laughed, a musical sound. "No, no, I'm not mocking you! I'd never mock you..."

_I'm not hearing this_...

"Yes, I know. Ok, ok... I have to go. No, really, I have to go! No, I'll call you. I promise! Yes, I know. I've missed you too."

_Valerie is just taking a phonecall. She is not using gooey pet names, she is not giggling like a love-sick schoolgirl, therefore she can not be getting a call from her boyfriend_.

"Alright. Ok. Goodnight. I love you too. Goodnight."

'_I love you'_? Nick felt his spirits sink a little. _Well, what were you expecting, Nicky? A woman that fine not having a boyfriend? She's going to be back in Seattle in a week. Don't get involved - just keep your head down and do your damn job. Don't bother; you know she's untouchable. She's spoken for_.

"Find anything?" Valerie came back into the apartment, smiling her default cheery smile. "Any sign of the missing bullet?"

"No." Nick said, a little sharply, refusing to look up.

Valerie paused, then shrugged. "Ok. But you know what I think? I think we should concentrate more on finding out who was in this apartment last, rather than what killed the hunter."

"And how are we supposed to do that?" Nick asked, remembering to be polite. Polite, but keeping his distance.

"Wig fibre. Stiletto heel marks in the floor. There's got to be some other evidence of a woman in here, right?" Valerie looked around, and mock-shuddered. "Though I can't really see this place being the ideal place to entertain a woman." She sighed. "I'm going to check the bathroom, see if I can find some lipstick stains or something."

Nick sighed. "Alright." He stood up and turned back to face where Matthew Hunter's body had been. If Matthew had been standing _here_, and the bullet tract had been angled like _this_... then the missing bullet should be...

An empty hole in the tiles above the sink stared back at him like an accusing eye. Nick blinked. _How come I didn't see that before_?

"Nick?" Valerie came up behind him, making him jump. "Sorry," she smiled, "I seem to be scaring you a lot lately."

Nick recovered, and pointed out the hole dug in the tiles. "There's the bullet-hole, but there's no bullet."

Valerie frowned and leant closer to get a better look. Her ponytail slid over her left shoulder. "Well, that's odd. A crime of passion isn't exactly foreword-planning-type of murder. Whoever our killer was, she knew what she as doing. She had this planned beforehand to every minute detail...." Valerie stood up, biting her lip. "Except for one thing."

Nick nonchalantly stepped back a little. "Like what?"

"There are wooden floors between the living room and the bathroom. If Miss Murderer was wearing her stilettos, there'd be holes in the floor, right?" Nick nodded, and Valerie added, "Well, there wasn't. And I'm guessing she was barefoot to ice Mr Hunter. I think she wore them in, then took them off somewhere between the door and the couch."

"So, what, we're looking for a pair of shoes?"

Valerie shrugged. "She may have taken them with her, she may not have. But it's a start."

Nick nodded. "I'll see what I can find."

Valerie frowned. "Nick, we're partners. We work together on this, remember?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah. I know."

Valerie frowned, but said nothing.

"Did you find anything in the bathroom? Makeup smears, toilet seat down, things like that?"

Valerie's frown smoothed itself out. "Not yet. I came to tell you about the shoes, remember? I'll go look now."

Nick headed for the entranceway, trying to tell himself to be a little more civil. Valerie was his partner, and they were working together in this case. That was all.

As far as Nick was concerned, Valerie was a no-go area.

She was pretty, though. Nick smiled at the elephant-foot umbrella-stand. And pretty smart. And she was a fellow Animal Planet junkie.

No, stop it. She's taken.

Three umbrellas in the umbrella-stand. Could one have them belonged to the killer? Nick took them out, one by one. A zebra print, a leopard print, and a plain black umbrella came out. Nick sighed. Either Matthew Hunter had a real animal fetish, or the killer brought two umbrellas with her. The trophies all over the apartment answered that question loud and clear. Nick threw the three umbrellas back into the elephant's foot with a sigh.

All the umbrellas were the same length, but the black one stuck out. Nick frowned, and tried to push it back in. It wouldn't go.

"Nothing," Valerie came back in. "Not even a smidgeon of blush powder. And I've never known a girl not to use the bathroom for a touch-up." She shook her head and set down her kit. "But there's nothing!"

Nick looked up. "Remember what you told me about elephants?"

"Of course," Valerie smiled, "How could I forget?"

Nick smiled at the pun, then reached into the umbrella-stand. "Well, I think you were right." He pulled out a pair of stiletto heels.

"How ironic." Val smirked. "Hide the things which made the footprints in the foot of something that doesn't leave footprints."

Nick examined the shoes a little closer. "I don't see any blood on the shoes..."

"She took them off before the carpet, remember?"

"But there is something here."

"Let me see." Valerie came over and held her hand out for the shoe. Nick pointed to a moist patch near the toes. Valerie smirked. "Blister. Whoever wore these wasn't used to wearing them." She paused, and frowned. "Can we get DNA out of blisters?"

Nick shrugged, then bagged the shoes. "We won't know until we try."

Valerie smiled at him. "Nice work."

Nick smiled back. "You too, Valerie."

"Call me Val."

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"Doctor, doctor, gimme the news."

"Stomach full of heart pills. The old guy OD'ed." Dr Robbins held up a metal tray for Warrick's inspection. "Some weren't even digested yet."

Warrick nodded, grim but triumphant. "I thought so."

"Care to share with me before you run off your report?"

Warrick nodded, "There was a victim, David Carson. There was a motive - he recently came into the money. And the suspects? All in the family. I liked the mother for this... she seemed really eager to get me out of there, and she didn't seem too concerned about her father-in-law's health. But when the clock went off while I was on the road, I got to thinking. Maybe it wasn't anyone's fault - maybe it was just an accident."

"I sense this clock was the killer."

Warrick nodded, and wryly continued. "The clock's timer was set to go off every four hours, according to the Carsons. But the clock goes off every half an hour. Someone changed the timer. One of the kids told me he and his brother were having 'turns' on their Nintendo. I think they were using the clock to tell when their turns were up, not knowing how important the clock was to their grandfather's health. It's not that hard to reprogram an alarm clock."

Robbins chuckled mirthlessly. "Accidental overdose."

Warrick shook his head. "I can still blame this on Mrs Carson... if I felt malicious. If it wasn't for her, Grandfather Carson wouldn't have been trained to take a pill whenever the alarm went off, and he wouldn't have OD'ed."

"Like a trained poodle, jumps when you give the word. Even if you put it at the edge of a cliff."

"Exactly."

* * *

**A/N**: Only a few chapters to go... now open: suggestion box for the next episode. And also, as always, the little review bar thingy down the bottom there is open. 24/7, like 7-11... only without those locks on the doors. 


	11. Not Exactly Evidence

**Disclaimer**: "CSI was cool, but it would have totally gotten between us." - Nigel Crane

**A/N**: This fanfic is based around season two... since there is so much more potential for cases and extra characters in that season. Don't flame me if what happens doesn't match up with what happens in seasons three and four, though I will try and match it up. This is a fanfic. Enjoy.

* * *

"Hey Greggo!" Nick clapped his hands, barely containing his enthusiasm. "Any news on the shoes?" 

Greg swivelled around to face Nick and Valerie, a silly grin on his face. "That's good. News on the shoes. I like that."

Valerie rolled her eyes. "Could we please focus on the case, boys?"

Greg sobered instantly. "Of course, Valerie. As usual, you are the voice of reason."

"As usual?" Valerie raised an eyebrow.

Nick cleared his throat, awkwardly. "Is that a yes, Sanders?"

Greg stood, snagging a piece of paper from the printer. "Yes, that's a yes. But it's also a no." He held the paper out to Valerie, then sidled up close to her to point something out on the paper. "Yes, DNA from the blister. No, we can't get a match, can I have your phone number? But we could get something. The person who wore those heels was a..."

"Just a minute." Valerie frowned at Greg, who was practically hanging off her shoulder. "What did you say?"

"I said, DNA from blister, no match, and the person who wore the heels..."

"Before that bit."

Greg grinned. "Oh, I was just wondering if I could have your phone number, but I got flustered." The labrat sat back down in his swivel-chair. "It's nothing, really."

Nick shook his head pityingly. _She's taken, Greggo. She's not going to give you her phone number_.

Valerie stared at Greg. "Why would you want my phone number?"

Greg shrugged, all nonchalance. "Oh, no reason, really. I was just wondering if maybe, perhaps, someday, I could ask you out, or something, but if that's a no, then never mind." He put on his best innocent face.

Nick cleared his throat to stop himself from laughing.

Valerie blinked, then smiled, a little embarrassed but obviously flattered. "Oh, my only weakness: the puppy-dog eyes." She pulled a card from her jacket pocket. "Do you have a pen?"

It miraculously appeared in Greg's fingers. Valerie scrawled quickly while Greg smirked at Nick. Nick stared, his jaw hanging open.

"Here." Valerie handed Greg the card. She was blushing slightly. "I'm, umm... going to go," she flapped the paper around, "And work on this...evidence..." She made a hasty exit, but was still grinning.

Greg kissed the card, then waved it at Nick. "Valerie Wilks. VW." He made a noise halfway between a car revving and a cat meowing. He grinned even wider seeing the look on Nick's face. "You didn't get her number, did you? Ha! Sucks to be you!"

Nick shook his head, unbelieving of what just happened. "But she's already got a boyfriend!"

"Didn't stop her, did it?" Greg threw his arms up in the air and spun around on his chair. "Greg shoots, he SCORES!"

Nick left the lab in a hurry. _She's got a boyfriend, but she gives _GREG_ her phone number? Something's not right. Not right at all_...

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Grissom sat in the dark, his hand to his chin, staring at the dummy as though by staring at it, he could make it suddenly come to life and die all over again, just to show how Damien Peterson died.

But the dummy didn't move. It just stood there, two red plastic markers sticking out of it. It wasn't going to give up its secrets easily.

Grissom smiled, a little smug. Sara loved a challenge - let her figure this one out.

"Am I interrupting something between you and your friend, Grissom?"

Sara was leaning in the doorway, watching Grissom silently. Grissom waved her into the room.

"Damien Peterson had two bullet wounds in his skull." The older CSI pointed the two markers out to Sara. One, under his jaw, through the top of his skull. The other, straight through his neck."

"Nasty." Sara said flatly. She looked at the dummy critically, but said nothing else.

"Well?" Grissom asked. "Your thoughts?"

Sara pursed her lips. "Well, I think..." She reached for the light switch, "That it's too dark in here."

Grissom blinked and squinted in the sudden glare of the lights. But Sara didn't seem to notice. She walked around the dummy, examining it from every angle.

_Dammit, Grissom, why don't you just tell me what this guy was lying about?!_

She turned and looked back at her supervisor. "Well?"

"Well what?" He looked, somehow, infuriatingly smug.

Sara fought with her temper. "Well, what exactly am I looking for?"

Grissom shrugged, the same half-smile on his face. "I don't know, you tell me."

Sara stepped back to examine the dummy again, barely hiding a scowl. She forced herself to take a few calming breaths and take a better look at the dummy. The markers, showing the angle of the bullets' entry, both angled... downward.

Sara blinked, then turned back to face Grissom. "He was killed by a midget?"

Grissom sighed, not amused. "The man was sitting down, Sara."

Sara smiled a tight smile. "Then I'll... fix... it." She punched the dummy in the 'gut', making it bend, sharply and suddenly, at the waist.

"Easy, Sara," Grissom warned, "That's expensive equipment you're manhandling."

_I'll give you 'manhandling'..._ Sara thought darkly, knocking the dummy into a sitting position. "They're self-healing, remember, Grissom?" She dropped it on the floor, stepped back, and stared at the dummy.

"Stippling around the entry wounds," Grissom said coolly, watching Sara with his arms folded, "And you know what that means."

Sara said nothing. She just stared at the dummy.

Grissom continued, "It means, Sara, that whoever killed Damien had the gun right up against neck and jaw."

Sara stared at the dummy for another minute, then slowly turned to face Grissom. "So that's what you meant when you said that Damien was lying."

Grissom tilted his head and tried his best to look innocent. "You call it, Sara."

Sara sighed and closed her eyes. _Give me patience_... "You knew this all along, Grissom."

Grissom shrugged. "Knew what?"

"Damien Petersontold the security guard that he was being blackmailed, that she would be killed. That wasn't just a lie - it was just a slip of the tongue. Damien wasn't being blackmailed - phone records and his buddy Powers tell us that much - but as of yet we don't know who 'she' was." Sara looked down at the dummy, then continued in her detached, professional tone. "The real lie Damien told us was the lie he told in his death." Sara's mouth twisted in something of a sneer. "All the evidence surrounding Damien Peterson told of a murderer. That someone wanted to get even. He had gambling and drug debts galore. But according to his last phone call, this wasn't a murder."

This time it was Grissom's turn to frown. "What about his last phone call?"

"Oh," Sara said flippantly, looking pleased with herself, "I'm sure you'll figure that out on your own. I know you will." She folded her arms and smiled a tight smile. "I found his mobile in the car. Anyway," she picked up the dummy and put it on the table, "The entry wounds are..." Sara traced her fingers over the markers, "Angled so that it would be impossible for someone outside the car..." She stopped.

Grissom waited.

Sara stepped back from the dummy, and slowly turned to face her supervisor. Their eyes locked.

"_Well, goodnight to you sir." The security guard lowered his flashlight and backed away from the car, walking quickly back to his post. Damien watched until he was sure that the man would not turn around before taking both the pistols from out of the glove box. He looked down at his phone one last time, but there was still no call, no message. She wasn't coming._

_Sobbing without tears, Damien raised the guns. Nothing else mattered anymore. Placing the barrel of one gun into his throat and the other against the bottom of his jaw, Damien closed his eyes._

"_Goodbye Gina..."_

_He jumped at the sound of the gunshots, but not because they had scared him. His grip on the pistols failed, and his arms flopped down uselessly. The guns fell, landing in the dead man's lap, their handles pointing outwards. _

_Damien Peterson was dead._

"He took his own life." Sara said, quietly.

Grissom inclined his head to Sara. "I know." He went over and stood next to Sara. "Damien Peterson killed himself."

Sara shook her head. "But why?"

Grissom shrugged and put a hand on Sara's shoulder. "That's still something we have to figure out."

"He killed himself, huh?" Warrick grinned from the doorway. "So that's what you meant when you said the victim was lying."

Grissom snatched his hand away from Sara's shoulder as though he had just been snake bitten.

"So it's not a murder, it's a suicide?" Warrick came over and examined the dummy with a sigh. "Well, there's one question answered." Warrick looked up with a wry smile. "Great. I finally get my case over and done with, and then when I finally come back to the case I started on and its over."

"Almost over." Sara smiled back tightly.

"So, Griss," Warrick turned to face his boss, "How come you bumped me to an old guy's overdose and let Sara replace me?"

Grissom's pager went off, and Grissom checked it quickly.

"Brass found Gina Thompson." He explained. "I'm going to go talk to her." He left, trying not to make it look like he was in a hurry.

"Grissom." Sara shrugged, her arms folded.

Warrick sighed in defeat, then turned to face Sara with a grin on his face.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," Warrick smirked. "I just was wondering what you two were doing in here before I popped in."

Sara blinked and frowned. "We were examining the wound tracts of Damien Peterson, and discovering that he killed himself."

Warrick raised an eyebrow. "So the hand on the shoulder thing helped you figure it out?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sara said stiffly, a touch of pink appearing in her cheeks.

Warrick smirked again. "Sure you don't."

**

* * *

A/N:** Just to recap: 

Val: ::n-n:: -gives Greg phone number-

Greg: "SCORE!" n-nv -does the touchdown dance-

Nick: o.o;; then --;;

-giggles- This fanfic is so fun. Only a few more chapters to go! Comments? Reviews? Suggestions? Cookies? Press the review button, just down there.


	12. A Queen and a Knave

**Disclaimer**: I don't own CSI. I own this laptop and I called it Ichabod, which means 'Without Glory' in Hebrew, but I don't own the Hebrew language, Sleepy Hollow, Johnny Depp… or CSI.

* * *

Back at Matthew Hunter's trophy-studded apartment, Nick was trying to keep his mind on the case. It wasn't working. He couldn't help keep staring at Valerie. 

"What?" She asked, catching him glancing at her again.

Nick shook his head. "It's nothing." He looked away.

Valerie smiled back, sheepishly. "It's the suit, isn't it." She sighed. "I come dressed to impress and all I do is intimidate people."

"No," Nick shrugged, fumbling for an answer. "That's not what I was thinking. And it suits you."

Valerie raised an eyebrow. "Is that meant to be a joke?" To Nick's blank look she grinned and added, "Y'know, suit suits… the suit suits you…" She chuckled, then sighed again. "I don't normally dress like this, but hey, first impressions count."

"Well, you made an impression on Greg."

Valerie's smile faded a little. "And what does that mean?"

"Nothing," Nick looked away again, pretending to look around the apartment for evidence. "It just doesn't seem right that a girl who already has a boyfriend gives out her phone number to the first guy who asks."

Val was silent for a moment. "FYI, I haven't had anyone ask me for my number in a long time. OK? I didn't know what else to do. I got flustered." She frowned. "And secondly, what makes you think I have a boyfriend?"

Nick turned back to face his partner. "I heard you talking to…" He fell silent at the look on Valerie's face.

"You were listening in on a private conversation?" Val stared, incredulous and angry. She shook her head. "Nick, I was talking to my mother! She's an ex-judge from Seattle, has helped me through a lot of difficult stages in my life, and is currently my best and only friend. I call her every day." Val's eyes glittered dangerously. "And you thought I got a call from my _boyfriend_?" Her face twisted bitterly. "I don't even have one! I've been single since Y2K."

"… Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'." Val scowled. "For a CSI you make a lot of assumptions. You don't know me at all, Mr Stokes." She pushed past him and headed for the door.

"I'd like to… to get to know you…"

Valerie turned, slowly, her face unreadable. She said nothing, just stared at him.

Nick shrugged, feeling a little put out. "But then that's up to you to decide, right?"

"Right." Val said. She nodded a second later, and looked down at her feet. "Right." She turned back to face him, a chill smile on her face. "And that's why you're jealous of Greg. Jealous enough to invade my privacy."

Nick felt it was time to defend himself. "Hey, when a pretty face walks into the lab, Greg's bound to do something like that. That's just the kind of guy he is."

Valerie raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? So you're _not_ jealous I gave my phone number to the labrat with the puppy-dog eyes?"

"I… Well… No, it's just… You gave him your number…" _I sound like a whiny two-year-old_, Nick cursed himself silently.

Val smirked. "I'll give my phone number to anyone who's cute enough, providing I know him… and he asks nicely."

_Oh_. "Well… Can I have your phone number? Please?"

She looked at him for a good minute, her smile a trifle frosty. Finally, she raised an eyebrow. "What do _you_ need my phone number for? We're partners on the same case… Speaking of which, perhaps we should interview the security guards. They might have seen something." She turned and strode out of the door, her head held high.

_That's a no, Nick_. Nick sighed and followed after Valerie, feeling a bit of an idiot.

--

"Matt? Bring a girl home? You gotta be kidding me!" The guard chuckled wryly. "I mean, Matthew was a player, sure, but he never brought girls back to his place. Ever."

Nick frowned. "And why would that be?"

Val answered the question. "The animals, right?"

The security guard nodded. "Right. Matt was one of those guys who was always lucky with the ladies. Made a lot of the other fellas jealous. But he never brought his birds home. Always took 'em to hotels or back to their place. My guess is it was easier to score that way." The guard winked at Val.

"Mr Johnson," Val cleared her throat, "Is there any reason why Matthew would bring someone up to his apartment?"

The guard shook his head. "No. The man wasn't much of an entertainer. And as far as I know, he didn't even bring any other hunting enthusiasts home to show off his collection. Ask the other guards here, we'll all tell you the same thing."

"So no guests? Ever?" Val snorted, and shook her head.

Nick stepped in. "So you didn't see anyone coming into the apartment with Mr Hunter at all?"

"No," the guard shrugged, "I didn't. But then, it wasn't my shift."

"Whose shift was it, then?"

"Bernie's. I'll get him for you, if you like." The man went back into his booth and spoke into his walkie-talkie.

Val looked over her notes. "An animal-collecting player who didn't bring girls home, no friends, no hobbies other than scoring." She smiled a tight lipped smile into the distance. "Only in Vegas."

"Are you still mad at me?"

Val's smile didn't waver. "What gives you that idea, Mr Stokes?"

Nick sighed. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to eavesdrop. Are you happy now?"

Valerie paused, her dark sunglasses hiding the emotion in her eyes. After a while she smiled at Nick. "No, not really. But it's a start."

"Val, I…"

"Bernie's coming now," the guard stepped out of his booth. "He's just finishing off his coffee."

"Thankyou," Valerie nodded at the security guard. "While we're waiting, is there anything else you could tell us about Mr Hunter?"

The guard shrugged. "He gambled. A lot. And didn't care whether he won or lost. Whether he came home five grand in the red or five grand in the black, it didn't matter. It wasn't about the money for Matt."

"The thrill of the hunt," Val smiled wryly. "Hunter by name and profession, no matter what jungle he's in."

"Got it in one, ma'am." The guard nodded. "But Matt's 'hunting' was bound to get him in trouble. The casinos like people who throw money at them, but not people who don't care whether they win or lose. Matt had big gambling debts, and some of them didn't involve money."

Val raised an eyebrow. "I see." She paused for a moment, then added, "Do you know what casinos Mr Hunter frequented the most?"

"All of them." The guard shrugged. "He went for the big ones on weekends and the obscure ones on weekdays." The guard lowered his voice. "Don't spread the word, but all of us working here had a pot of money riding on when the casinos would come visit Matt. I had from June 10 until June 30."

Nick and Val both raised eyebrows.

The guard held up his hands, defensively. "Hey, it was just a lucky pot, y'know? And we were only betting on the fact that the casinos would come to collect, not that Matt really get bumped off. Hey," he added, as though the thought just struck him, "Since Matt was murdered, does that mean the bet is off?"

Nick nodded. "Sure," he said dryly, "Murder constitutes that all bets must be annulled. You and all your friends can get your money back."

The guard nodded and grinned, not getting the sarcasm, "Great, coz I had a fifty in there."

Val said nothing, but her lips twisted.

A cheery ringtone started, one that Nick recognised, and Val fumbled for her phone quickly. "Excuse me." She took a few steps away before answering. "Hello?"

Nick wisely decided to ignore Val's conversation. Luckily for him, the second security guard appeared.

"Hey, I'm Bernie."

Nick shook the man's hand. "I'm Nick Stokes, I'm with the Crime Lab. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Shoot."

Nick took out his notes. "It was your shift last night when Matthew Hunter had a visitor, correct?"

Bernie nodded. "Yeah, but they didn't come in together."

The first security guard interrupted. "Listen, I've got to get back to work, I'll see you later."

Bernie waved. "Sure. Bye." The first guard sauntered off.

Nick frowned. "What do you mean, they didn't come in together?"

"Ten-thirty seven, a cab pulls in. This guy gets out, tells me he's meeting a friend at the condo, asks where the bathroom is. Ten minutes later, Mat pulls in, rolls down the window, tells me he's got a girl coming over later tonight and doesn't want to be disturbed 'if I know what he means'. No other people came to the apartment that night."

"What about anyone leaving?"

Bernie shrugged. "About half an hour later, this chick in a little black dress comes out, waves goodnight to me, stands on the curb and flags down a taxi. Aside from that, three other guests made late night trips out, but they all went out after the time I heard Matt was murdered."

_Suspect_! _Woman calling taxi_! Nick made a note. "Anything distinguishing about this lady?"

"She was blonde." Bernie snorted. "And she was barefoot."

_Barefoot_! _Strike two_! Nick barely contained a grin, then realised his predicament. He frowned as he asked, "Did you see that woman coming into the condo before?"

Bernie shook his head. "No. Truth be told, I have no idea where she came from. She wasn't a guest, and none of the other guys had seen her before."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "You talked about her, huh?"

Bernie grinned. "Sure, why not? You see a pretty face, you want to find out all you can about her, yeah?"

Val came over, her sunglasses still on. "That was Greg. He called about that information he didn't share with us before… and to have something of a chat with me." She looked pointedly at Nick. "Have you got a suspect yet?"

Nick held up his notes. "We do now."

Val gave him a tight smile. "Good." She paused, then added, "I saw something up at Mr Hunter's apartment that might help us. I didn't think too much of it before, but it might be the case-breaker."

"I'll come with you."

"I'm perfectly capable of doing this myself, Mr Stokes." She smiled that false smile again. "It shouldn't take more than a minute. Hold your breath."

Nick sighed as Val walked away.

Bernie smirked. "Having girl troubles, huh?"

"It's not like that."

"But she's mad at you, right?"

Nick sighed, and nodded.

Bernie slapped Nick on the back. "Buck up. She'll come around. Just don't take 'no' for an answer."

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Nick argued. "She's… she's not going to be staying here long."

"All the more reason to get on her good side."

Nick looked up, towards the apartment, where Val had disappeared to. "Yeah. Good point."

"So what are you waiting for?" Bernie grinned. "Get her before someone else does!"

Nick grinned back, then added wryly, "Any suggestions for stopping a girl from being mad?"

"Apologising helps."

"Done that."

Bernie nodded. "Flowers and chocolates. Maybe even something sparkly, if she's THAT mad."

"I don't know her that well."

"No time like the present!"

Nick shrugged. "I guess so."

"Here she comes." Bernie warned, wiping the smile off his face.

The red-head came towards Nick with a business-like stride. Valerie held up an evidence bag, a hint of a mocking smile on her lips. "Here. What do you make of this?" She passed it to Nick and took off her sunglasses.

It was a card, a playing card. Nick turned the bag over, looking at both sides of it. The back was a plain green background, the front…

Well, it was… unusual. Where most cards had a mirror image, so that the picture could be seen right-way-up, no matter how it was held, this card was split in half. It was a Queen and a Jack - two cards in one. The Queen of Hearts smirked sedately from the top, but when Nick turned the card upside down, the Jack of Hearts glowered sternly out at him. The queen was holding a rose; the knave was holding a gun.

"Could be a calling-card," Nick hazarded. He looked up at Val - she was watching him impassively. "The casinos did want Matt to pay up; maybe they got tired of him not paying his debts."

Val pursed her lips and nodded. "Sounds good so far… but why the Queen and the Jack on one card?"

Nick shrugged. "I have no idea." He saw a sparkle in Valerie's eyes. "What?"

"You know how I said Greg called me before?" She said slowly, gauging Nick's reaction. Nick wisely decided to keep his face blank when he nodded. "Well," Val continued, "The DNA on the shoe came back. XY."

Nick's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Matthew Hunter was wearing the stiletto heels?"

"No way," Bernie broke in, shaking his head. "Matt wouldn't wear no stiletto heels. He wasn't like that. At all. If he had a girl over…" The guard frowned. "Shouldn't the girl be wearing the heels?"

Val smirked, then shrugged. "I'm as stumped as you are, sir." She took the card back from Nick and stared through the bag at it. "Maybe we should go back to the lab. I don't think there's anything more here at the scene of the crime." She sighed, a little resigned, "Now we just try and put our 'pretty fuzzy story' into focus."

Bernie grinned, first at Val, then at Nick. "I've got twenty bucks that says you couldn't solve it before 3am tomorrow."

The Texan grinned. "You're on."

Val slipped her sunglasses back on, but not before Nick saw her rolling her eyes in mock-despair. And there was no hiding that smile of hers.

**

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A/N:** Would you believe it, two more chapters to go! (Wow that's bad grammer) Anyhoo… suggestions and comments are lovely and always welcome. I especially thank Nerwen and Tinuviel for helping me with this… and _scififreakmi_ to for the constant comment…ation… ness…dom. Yeah. And to all my other fans, you ROCK! whoooo! 


	13. It's Ok, It's Vegas

**Disclaimer**: If I could, I'd stuff the cast members of CSI in my closet and feign innocence to all forms of lawsuits. But I don't own CSI. And I can't stuff Eric, George or Doug in my closet. It's not big enough. More's the pity.

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Warrick looked up. "Hey Sara?" 

"Mmm?"

He gestured with his coffee mug. "You know who she is?"

Sara frowned and peered through the glass at the woman walking with Nick through the lab. "I don't know. I've never seen her before."

Warrick downed the last of his coffee and grinned. "I bet that's the transfer that Greg is so in love with." He smirked. "He was right, though."

Sara raised an eyebrow but decided not to comment.

As Nick and the woman passed by the break room, Warrick called out. "Hey Nick, why don't you introduce us to your new girlfriend?"

Both Nick and the red-head stopped walking at once matching expressions on their face.

"Not funny, man," Nick growled, coming towards Warrick. Somehow, holding an evidence bag with a pair of stilettos didn't exactly make him seem very intimidating. The fixed smile on the red-head seemed much scarier. Sara coughed, hiding a laugh.

It had been on the tip of Warrick's tongue to say '_I knew you liked girls with red hair, Nick, but flirting on the job isn't such a good idea_', but he decided against it.

"This is Valerie Wilks," Nick said, forcing himself to remain calm. "She's Catherine's temporary replacement from Seattle."

Val's fixed smile became somewhat amused. "I know who I am, thankyou, Mr Stokes."

Sara grinned, then held her hand out to Valerie, "Sara Sidle. Welcome to Vegas."

"Whoa, hold up!" Nick warned, and both women froze. "I wouldn't shake hands with her if I were you. She bites."

Sara and Val both glowered.

"Which one were you talking about, Nick?" Warrick asked dryly, and chuckled.

"Nice to meet you, Sara," Val ignored both men and shook Sara's hand. "At least you're not listening in on private phone calls."

Warrick and Sara both looked at Nick.

"It wasn't intentional," he said plaintively.

Val just rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Sure."

Warrick laughed. "You put your foot in it big time, bro."

"I hear that." Val folded her arms and looked miffed.

"I apologised already," Nick stared at Val. "And you're still mad?"

Val fought with her lips, then finally gave up and grinned. "No, I just wanted to how long I could make you squirm."

Warrick laughed, Sara bit her lip to hide a smile, and Nick just stared at Val. The red-head shrugged, grinning smugly.

"From Seattle, huh?" Warrick grinned. "Welcome to the desert, Valerie."

"Call me Val," She grinned at him, "And you are?"

"Warrick Brown."

"Nice to meet you, Warrick." She nodded. "I've finally met just about everyone in the famous Vegas team."

Sara frowned, "We're not… famous."

"Sure you are." Val grinned. "Number one in the country? You're famous."

"But we're not number one," Nick interrupted.

Valerie snorted. "Quantico doesn't count. It's run by the Fibbies."

Sara laughed. "Fibbies. Have to remember that one." Val grinned back.

Nick cleared his throat. "Ok, we really have to get back to work now…"

Warrick grinned at his friend. "Yeah, the trophy hunter case. How's that going?"

"We're stumped." Val sighed. Then she brightened. "What cases do you guys have?"

"Oh we've finished ours." Warrick sighed. "I had an accidental overdose, and Sara was dealing with a murder-suicide."

Val looked to Sara, her interest perked. "Murder-suicide?"

Sara whacked Warrick on the arm before answering. "A suicide that looked like a murder."

"Oh." Val tried not to look disappointed.

"Well, you got the trophy-hunter case," Sara said, "So… did the animals fight back?"

Val rolled his eyes. "I fail to see how a rhino could fit into a pair of these," she took the evidence bag with the shoes inside from Nick and examined them again, "But we're pretty sure it was some kind of animal."

"In other words," Nick said with a smile, "We're stuck. All the evidence we have is… confusing. At best."

"Didn't Grissom say something once about how 'if you're not confused, you're not doing your job'?"

Valerie raised an eyebrow. "He says things like that?"

"I do, actually."

The four CSI's turned to find Grissom standing in the doorway, a manila folder in his hands.

"Hey," Sara smiled, then frowned. "I thought you were interviewing Gina Thompson."

Grissom paused a beat. "It was a false alarm."

Warrick snorted. "Sure. Picture that." Sara just shook her head, as though it were something she had expected him to do.

Val looked from Grissom to Sara, and back again, but said nothing.

"So," Grissom came over, "Are you done with your case yet?"

"Not yet," Val said with all seriousness, "But if we don't crack it before 3am, Nick owes some security guards 20 bucks."

Warrick sniggered. Grissom looked at Nick for an explanation.

"One guard, actually." Nick smiled, trying to redeem himself.

Grissom didn't say a word.

Nick cleared his throat and put the evidence on the table. "Right now, we have a wig fibre, evidence from the coroner, site photos…"

"And XY DNA on this lovely pair of shoes." Val placed the bag on the table next to everything else. "Which," she added, "Doesn't match up with the victim."

"We also have this." Nick held up the card.

"Let me se that," Warrick said, holding his hand out for it. "It looks like a calling card, but none I've ever seen."

"So, what, a bounty hunter killed your trophy hunter?" Sara raised an eyebrow.

Warrick handed the card back to Nick. "Yeah, well, good luck catching him. Hitmen have a way if disappearing."

"We know that," Nick sighed, "But this hitman left a lot of evidence behind. We may be able to narrow it down and actually find the guy."

"Or this could end up on Grissom's fish board. What do you think, Grissom?"

Grissom folded his arms and considered the evidence. He looked up at Val. Valerie had been watching the exchange, a sadly wistful expression on her face as she looked from CSI to CSI. But as Grissom looked at her, she smiled hopefully.

"Well, you're our boss. Maybe you'll see the piece we've missed from our puzzle."

"I think you have all the pieces," Grissom said, blank-faced. "You just have to put them together."

Valerie frowned. "But we have male DNA on the shoes, shoes which belong to a woman, wig fibres, and a woman seen fleeing the scene." She sighed, "Well, not fleeing, but I digress."

Grissom shrugged, but couldn't help but be a little smug. "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

Valerie stared at Grissom, the realisation dawning. Nick laughed and brought his hands up to his face.

Sara hid a smile at the look on Valerie's face. "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle." Grissom nodded, pleased that Sara had accurately cited his source.

"Improbable?" Valerie looked like she was having a hard time swallowing what Grissom had just proposed. Nick looked like he was about to laugh and smash his head on the glass doors at the same time.

_The man walked past the guards, determined not to draw any further attention to himself. He'd have to be quick. He located the bathrooms. He slid into the women's bathroom, pulled the clothes out of his bag. He changed quickly in one of the stalls, hiding the bag, then primped and primed in the mirror. A little blush, a little lipstick, a little mascara and eyeliner… And you wouldn't recognise the man who came in. A quick adjustment of the wig, making sure it was on securely, then he slipped on the stilettos. He hated these things. Stupid things gave him blisters. But beauty is pain, and tonight, he'd have to be the most beautiful girl on earth to kill a man… hell, it was worth the paycheck. And it wasn't like this was his first time._

_The hitman slipped the gun into his purse, checked his makeup one more time, then tottered out the door and headed for Matthew's apartment. The Knave of Hearts was about to strike again._

"A cross-dressing hitman?!" She shook her head. "You know, never mind. This is Vegas."

Grissom frowned. "You're making a lot of assumptions, Valerie, for a CSI."

Valerie smiled. "I'm fresh from Seattle; cut me some slack."

Grissom shrugged. "You'll get used to it." His pager started beeping. "Well, they found Ms Thompson for real now. I'm going to go have a talk to her." He left as quietly as he had come.

Nick put a hand on Val's shoulder, trying to reassure her. "I don't think you assumed too much."

Val snorted. "Four years, Nick. I should have at least considered it." She shrugged, and smiled. "Ah well, at least there's tomorrow."

Well, at least she's not calling me 'Mister Stokes' anymore.

"You sound like a workaholic," Warrick grinned. "Like Sara here."

Sara hit Warrick again. "There's nothing wrong with loving the job you're in!"

Nick laughed and started gathering up the evidence. "Yeah, but you love it more than life itself."

Warrick laughed as Nick got Sara's empty polystyrene cup in the face. "Nice shot! You should join a basketball team or something!"

Val looked from CSI to CSI again, that wistful expression on her face again. This time, only Sara noticed.

"What about you, Valerie?" She asked the red-head. "You like being a CSI?"

Val smiled, but looked down at her feet. "Yeah," she smiled. "I love my job." She met Sara's eyes. "It's easier than watching people die."

The three CSI's looked at Val. Before any of them could question her further, Brass knocked on the door.

"Morning all." He said cheerily. "Sara, you're not busy, are you?"

Sara rose to her feet. "No, why?"

"Well, Gina Thompson is here, and Grissom thought it would be a good idea if you came and helped wrap up the case with him. Y'know, you two worked this case together and everything. So. Yeah." He smiled.

Sara raised an eyebrow. "And the real reason he invited me is…?"

Brass grinned. "Gina's being a bitch and Grissom can't handle it. He wants moral support… and for you to bring a cup."

Nick, Warrick and Val all laughed. Sara barely hid a smile.

"Grissom can do this on his own, Brass. Why does he need me there?"

"Because he trusts you."

Sara didn't even bother to try hiding the pleased expression on her face. "Alright. I'm on my way." She waved goodbye to the three CSI's and followed after Brass.

Valerie watched her go, and looked thoughtful. "Does Grissom quote things like… like what he said before… a lot?"

Nick and Warrick nodded. "Yup."

"And Sara always seems to know where they're from?"

Again, the nod and answer in sync. "Yup."

She turned to face the boys. "Did anyone notice that Grissom and Sara seem to have this… thing?"

"Yup."

"Oh," Val nodded. "Good. So I'm not losing my CSI edge after all."

**

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**A/N:** One more chapter to go. Thanks to Nerwen and Tinuviel for their never-ending support. I lub youse guys.


	14. He Did

**Disclaimer**: CSI isn't mine. It belongs to some guy called Jerry.

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"Hey, Valerie?" 

Valerie turned to smile back at Nick. "Oh, hey! I was looking for you." She grinned. "Did you call Bernie and let him know he lost?"

"Yeah," Nick grinned back. "I was just going over to collect my twenty. You wanna come?"

Val shook her head. "No, I have to get back to my hotel. And I have to let my _mother_ know how I am." She grinned at him.  
Nick smiled sheepishly. "Umm, listen, Val… I'm sorry about eavesdropping before. I didn't mean to. It's just that… Well…" He sighed. _May as well spit it out_. "Greg had a bet with me that he would get your number before I did."

"And he did." Val said evenly. She frowned. "But if you two were having a bet, why didn't you ask me before? You certainly had a lot of opportunities. We were out at the crime scene more than we were at the lab."

Nick sighed. "I don't know."

"But you did want my number, didn't you."

Nick grinned and avoided eye contact. "Yeah."

"Typical knight-in-shining armour," Val grinned at him. "Too polite for your own good." She paused, and bit her lip. "Listen," Valerie sighed, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "I don't care whether you two were having a competition." She sighed again. "I haven't had anyone ask me for my number in… a long time." She looked up at Nick, and shrugged. "And I admire someone with courage." She tried and failed to hide a smile. "Besides… he is… kinda cute."

Nick nodded, and stepped aside to let Val pass. "I understand."

Valerie shook her head. "No, wait." She pulled a card from her jacket pocket and passed it to Nick. "You're cute too. And I owe you this. We've finished this case, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't keep in contact."

Nick hesitated. "No, I… I don't think so."

Valerie smiled. "Well, you did ask before. And I don't exactly remember saying 'no'." Val chuckled dryly. "Just don't call as often as Greg does. He calls, like, every hour or so. It's getting a little…"

Her phone began ringing.

"… Annoying." She sighed. Nick turned, and saw Greg sighing melodramatically back in the DNA lab. Valerie ground her teeth silently. The phone rang three more times, then fell into silence. Val sighed, then held up the card again. "So, you want it or not?"

Nick grinned back, and took the card. "Thanks."

Valerie nodded, and started down the corridor, her heels clipping on the lino.

_Fortune favours the bold, Nicky. You got her number…_ "Could I give you a lift?"

Valerie turned back, and smiled. "No, it's okay. I'll catch a cab."

"Well, where are you staying?"

"At the Monaco."

"Whoa," Nick winced. "You don't want to stay there. A lot of murders happen in that hotel."

"Well, good." Valerie smirked. "I'll be close to work then." With a final grin, she turned and was on her way out of the lab.

Nick looked down at the card in his hand and smiled.

_Nick shoots, he scores!_

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"… I haven't done anything wrong. You have no right to keep me here!"

Sara slipped into the room. Gina Thompson glowered at the CSI with eyes ringed by copious amount of eyeliner.

Grissom visibly relaxed as Sara sat down opposite Damien's girlfriend. Sara only gave him a questioning look. He didn't look battered at all, considering what Brass had said. But then, Brass was Brass.

"Ms Thompson," Sara cleared her throat. "We're not holding you here because you've committed a crime."

"Then good," the girl snapped. "So let me go."

Sara fought back a sigh. "Ms Thompson, we would like to talk to you about Damien Peterson."

Gina snorted and slouched further down in her seat. "What about him?"

Sara raised an eyebrow. "Your… concern is underwhelming, Ms Thompson."

"And why the hell should I be concerned?" Gina sat up and pointed an accusing finger at Sara. "Like I told these bozos: I couldn't care less what you have pegged on him." She sat back and crossed her arms again. "Drugs, gambling debts, credit cards - you name it, he did it. Ok? Can I go now?"

Sara looked up at Brass, then to Grissom. The detective just shrugged; Grissom just sat quietly, watching Gina with a deadpan expression. The woman just glowered back.

"You haven't told her?" Sara asked him softly. Grissom shook his head.

"Haven't told me what?" Gina snapped.

Sara cleared her throat, then opened the folder that lay on the table. She didn't let Gina see any of the photos that were inside. "Ms Thompson, what was your relationship with Mr Peterson?"

Gina squirmed, looking more and more like an adolescent with each passing moment. "He's my ex. We've had this on-off relationship for about a year now. I couldn't handle it anymore."

"What happened?" Sara asked softly.

The girl shrugged. "I left him. I'd had enough. I mean, wouldn't you?" She clicked her tongue.

"Do go on," Brass commented dryly.

Gina scowled, but otherwise ignored the detective. "Drugs and money problems aren't exactly the foundations for a good, lasting relationship. The first couple of times… he swore he'd clean up his act. But old habits die hard. I got sick of having to clean up after him, sick of having to lend him money 'just to tide him over'. I'd had enough of the thugs coming around to my apartment, threatening me because _Damien_ couldn't play his cards right."

"He told me he'd kill himself if I didn't come back," Gina said, sighing melodramatically, "But he does drugs, y'know? He was n addict, a gambler, and a waste of time. That's why I left. For real. And so he's been calling me, day and night, saying he'd kill himself if I didn't come back." Gina paused in her rant to snort with laughter. "Can you believe that?"

Brass bowed his head and bit his lip, but his expression did not change. Grissom out a hand to his chin and shut his eyes. Sara sighed. She put the folder down between herself and Ms Thompson, and spread the photos out for her to see.

"Yeah, I believe that. Because he did kill himself."

**

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A/N:** I'd like to thank everyone who has read/reviewed/made suggestions for this story. I admit, I think this story is a little rushed, but then, this is, after all, my first attempt at a CSI fanfic. I plan to do more… Many more… -_evil cackling paired with finger steepling_- I shall improve (most definitely!) next time. Stay tuned! And **Thanks For Reading!**

**Coming soon**:

_She was dead. She'd been shot straight between the eyes… but he'd just stood there, helpless, unable to do anything but stare…_

"I'm pretty sure Grissom would notice it…"

"How many more people have to die before I take the hint?"

"You're asking me to help you commit professional suicide!"

"Call Brass, now! We need backup! Suspect is in the building, armed and dangerous!"


End file.
